Suicide Watch
by Lililedger
Summary: Life takes us down many different paths. We are happy, we are sad. We suffer, we rejoice. We bleed, and are healed. High school is just a stop along the road. The changes it brings, however, can last a lifetime. Bunny, Style, Candy
1. Suicide Watch

7/21/2010: This chapter has now been edited.

**Suicide Watch**

"They don't come back, Kenny."

Kenny brushed Butters' comment off easily, a common practice for him. His worn out sketchers toed the edge of the rooftop.

The high school was the tallest building in South Park. It was also locked at- Butters checked his Hello Kitty watch- 2:45 AM on a Saturday, but…

It was the only building Kenny would use.

'I don't wanna survive and be in the fuckin' hospital again.'

"Don't be such a pussy, Buttercup."

It's a sign of how truly close they've gotten over the years that Butters doesn't push Kenny off himself.

It's been them against the world, best friends forever since sixth grade, when everybody finally broke out of the groups they'd been struggling with for years. Kyle and Stan had finally shaken Cartman and gone on to just be 'Super Best Friends.' (With the occasional inclusion of Wendy.) Cartman had gone on to form a young Republicans club with Butters, his ever-reluctant sidekick/slave. (Of course, anyone who knew Cartman knew that the 'young Republicans' club was complete and utter bullshit, but the teachers fell for it. And as for Kenny, well, he just faded back into the woodwork, always watching but never doing anything.

Until Butters decided he'd had enough of Cartman.

He had found Kenny that day, on the roof of the school, smoking a cigarette to waste time before going back to his hellhole of a home.

"Running away?" He asked.

"D-don't let him find me." Butters murmured.

And Kenny didn't.

For weeks, he led Butters around the more unsavory parts of town, until Cartman gave up, settling for shooting them dirty looks in class.

Kenny never left. That was almost six years ago, and they had slowly become what most considered 'best friends.'

Butters was a submissive person by nature. He did whatever Kenny told him to, though Kenny sensed this and gave out orders as infrequently as possible.

This, however, was unavoidable.

"Aw, shucks Ken… Do I really have to watch you do this? Just 'cause some school kids in Japan did it…"

"Suicide club sounds like fun to me, Buttercup." Kenny replied, completely ignoring the statement.

"They didn't come back!"

"You keep saying that." Kenny replied with a chuckle. "What does it matter? I will. Besides, you gotta make sure nobody buries me or cremates me in the few hours I'm gone. Or eats me. Stupid animals."

Butters shuddered. Kenny had told him plenty of horror stories about death. Like how it took at least six extra deaths to dig your way out of a coffin, suffocating each time. Or how you could FEEL your flesh grow back after being cremated. (Since Kenny came back to life immediately after his vital organs regenerated, and they often finished before skin.) Once, he'd had to fight his way out of a bear with only one arm. He'd lost track of how many deaths that took.

They were here tonight because Kenny was looking for a cheap thrill, and didn't want to risk someone running over him after he hit the ground. Coming back road kill sucked.

With their newfound friendship, Kenny could always count on Butters to pull him away from a dangerous situation. Butters wasn't quite so keen on the arrangement.

"Gosh, Ken, I won't be able to explain it to my parents if I get blood on me again. Remember how long I was grounded last time?"

Kenny laughed. "Since when have your parents ever stopped us from having fun? It's not like they're ever home anyway."

Butters winced. It was true, ever since he entered high school, his parents had started leaving him alone almost 24/7. Not because they trusted him, Lord knows they would never trust anyone but themselves, but because they couldn't stand to be cooped up in the house, and he was now old enough that they didn't have to worry about him dying while they were out.

"But Ken-"

"Butters." Kenny's voice was harsh. He was on the very edge, and he was anxious to jump. "Just stick my body in a dumpster somewhere and go home. I'll see you tomorrow.

And with that, he jumped. Butters closed his eyes, wincing when he heard the telltale crunch of Kenny's bones meeting the sidewalk

He rushed down the stairs, wanting to finish this as quickly as possible.

He had gotten lucky today. Kenny's body has splayed awkwardly, but the blood was all up by his head. Butters would have little trouble getting him into the alleyway.

He pulled the body into the alley and set himself to work straightening out the bones. Kenny put on a brave face, but Butters knew he was usually alive when his bones healed, and he knew how much it hurt the older boy to go through weeks of healing in a matter of hours. If Butters lined the pieces up, they would heal quicker.

His work finished, Butters leaned against the wall, eyes slipping closed. It was way too late for him.

"I could never leave you, Kenny." He whispered as sleep took him.

Next to him, Kenny's eyes slid open.


	2. Closer

These chapters are entirely un-betaed. Not because I don't have a beta, but because the betaed chapters were the ones left on my old, dead computer. These chapters were rescued from old deviantart notes. One day I will go back through them with my beta, but for now, here they are.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

**Closer**

Even at 18, Stan and Kyle were still Super Best Friends. No amount of years could ever change that. It was just that now they were 'Super-Best-Friends-Plus-Stan's-On-Again-Off-Again-Girlfriend-Wendy.'

And Kyle liked Wendy. Really, he did!

He just wished she wouldn't date his best friend.

Wendy and Stan were great together- when they weren't fighting, of course. They were kind and loving, and just about the perfect couple.

That was part of the problem.

When they weren't fighting, it was dates every possible night, kissing in the hallway, and feeding each other lunch. There was never any time for either of them to talk to Kyle, and when he was invited to hang out with them, he was nothing more than a third wheel. And when they were fighting, absolutely nothing productive EVER got done. They went out of their way to avoid each other, and each decided that Kyle was on their side. This was very problematic, as most of their fights ended up being about Kyle. Then, when he refused to side with either of them, they bonded over their mutual hatred of him, ignored him for a week, and then started the whole disgusting cycle all over again.

This left Kyle with very little Stan OR Wendy time, and was the main reason he wished they could all just be friends.

Speaking of Stan and Wendy, they were late.

The rare moments Kyle got to spend with his two friends were usually the weekly study sessions in the library. Today, the redhead had been there for ten minutes, and neither of them had shown up yet. This was typical for Stan, but odd for Wendy, and he hoped they hadn't forgotten him to go make out in the janitors closet.

AGAIN.

"Yo! Kyle!"

Kyle looked up from a particularly fascinating passage on the reproductive habits of beetles in time to see the librarian shoot Stan one of her famous 'death stares.' Library etiquette had never been Stan's forte, and they ended up kicked out of their study sessions more often than not.

Stan grimaced. "Dude." He whispered, "Let's go sit somewhere where dragon lady won't be breathing down our necks."

Kyle nodded, a small smile on his face. "Troublemaker." He chided softly as they slipped behind a row of encyclopedias.

Stan smirked. "S'not my fault. She has it out for me.

"Sure." Kyle chuckled quietly. "So where's your other half?"

"Bebe practically begged her to go shopping, so it's just us today. She said to tell you she's sorry, but she misses hanging out with Bebe." Stan replied, leaning against the bookshelf, and not looking particularly upset.

"Don't guard your feelings on my account." Kyle murmured, scanning the rows of books for something remotely related this homework.

"Honestly, man, I'm not all that shook up."

Kyle raised an eyebrow, eyes locked on Stan. "What's wrong this time?"

Stan shifted uncomfortably. "Nothings WRONG, exactly. It's just…" He drifted off for a moment, eyes darting around the room. "I feel like I'm being strangled. Like, there's way too much of her these days."

Kyle could sympathize. He knew EXACTLY how Stan felt.

"Well, she's your girlfriend. It's typical to see a lot of her."

Stan grimaced, running a hand through his dark hair. "Yeah, well, we'll see how long that lasts."

"What? No!" Kyle shouted. He winced when he heard the loud 'Shush!' He could FEEL the librarian's glare through the tall bookshelves.

Stan stared at Kyle, eyebrows raised. "What's up with you?"

Fair skin reddened easily, and Kyle's was no exception. Hiding his blush in his books, he replied with a whisper almost too soft for Stan to hear. "Oh no you don't. I REFUSE to be dragged into another of your stupid fights.

"We don't drag you-" Stan stopped, frozen by the glare Kyle was shooting him.

"If you finish that sentence, I will castrate you. Think about it, Stan."

Stan obliged, certain that Kyle was just being ridiculous.

Kyle let out a few quiet giggles as Stan's eyes began to widen.

"O-oh." The brunet muttered, "I guess we do…"

Kyle straightened up into 'serious mode,' his glare returning.

"Yeah," He said, "You do. So don't even go there." He returned to his book almost haughtily, and Stan stifled a laugh as he slid down the bookshelf to sit on the floor next to his super best friend.

"Dude, are you PMSing or something?"

Kyle promptly whacked him on the head with his book.

"Ow! Not cool, man!" Stan gently ran his hand over the back of his head. Yup, he was definitely gonna have a bump…

"Hush." Kyle replied, completely ignoring Stan's pain. "You're going to get us kicked out. AGAIN."

"You-"

"Shush."

Stan groaned, leaning more heavily on the bookcase. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something."

"What?" Kyle asked absentmindedly, already buried in the book again.

"How long have we been super best friends?"

Kyle raised an eyebrow, but didn't look up from his book. "A while. You know that, why ask me?"

"Well, see, there's this thing, and it's kind of complicated… but see, there's this thing, and it happens to… there's this thing…"

"You're not making any sense, Stan." Kyle looked up and 'Holy Shit when did Stan get so close?'

"You see, there's this thing." Stan bit his lip, placing his hand on the other side of his super best friend for balance as he leaned over him. "And it's kind of complicated."

Pressed against the bookshelves, his super best friend practically in his lap, Kyle clamored for some shred of logical thought. "Stan, I-You-We-I-"

";Please stop talking now." Stan murmured, leaning closer. "It's kinda making this difficult."

"But-!"

Stan's reply was barely a whisper against his lips, ";Please…"

Kyle had been kissed before.

Hell, he was eighteen years old. Most people his age had.

He had also, though he would never admit it, read several of Wendy's romance novels. (In his defense, he was bored and there was nothing else left to read.)

Kissing Stan was nothing like either of those.

First of all, all of Kyle's other kisses had been expected. They had been simple, chaste kisses after first dates that never seemed to be the start of anything.

In romance novels, the best friend kissed the heroine (Kyle's masculinity took a sharp dive from the comparison.) at the very end of the book. It was a magical, heart-healing experience. (Kyle made a mental note to go home and read something VERY VERY manly.)

Kissing Stan was not necessarily the best kissing in the world, but it was definitely up there. It was a far cry from chaste- Stan's tongue was in his mouth already, and his hands were crawling up Kyle's shirt. It was not 'magical' or 'healing.' It was very, very good, but also very, very wrong, and very, very fast. Kyle's brain was screaming something about Wendy, but unfortunately for Kyle's brain, its owner had stopped listening to it by then, and only managed a very weak "Wendy who?" before returning to 'Stan time.'

It was one of those kisses that you can tell have been held in for far, far too long, if the way Stan was now suckling at his neck was any indication. Not to mention the hands wandering his body.

Kyle's hands wandered to Stan's hair, tangling in the dark locks. "Stan," he groaned quietly.

And with that utterance, the spell was broken for both of them. They bolted apart, breathing heavily.

"What-" Kyle paused, wiping a line of spit from his chin. "What the hell was that?"

Stan glanced down at the floor, eyes fixed on an imaginary speck of dust. "It was… You see, there's this thing… and-"

"I know about the goddamn THING!" Kyle hissed. "What IS it?"

"I…" Stan looked up, suddenly determined. Kyle pressed back against the bookshelf, too afraid to try to name the emotion in the brunet's eyes. "I've been dreaming about you since the sixth grade."

Kyle's eyes widened. "Stan-!"

Stan shook his head. "I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. It took me months. And by the time I figured it out, I was with Wendy again and-"

"Wendy!" Kyle groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I can't believe we did that to Wendy!" He stood up suddenly. "I have to go!"

Stan lurched forward, grabbing his wrist.

"Kyle!"

Kyle looked at him, eyes wide with fear, sensing exactly where this was going. "Stan! We can't-" He choked back a sob. This was too much, just way too much.

"Kyle." Stan's voice was fierce, but he let go of the redhead's hand. "I want you."

Kyle stared at him for a moment. "I… I can't!"

He hurried out of the library, pushing past the librarian coming to scold them. Stan followed him, through the doors, down the street, until he finally managed to grab him and press him against a wall.

A tiny part in the back of Stan's mind registered that Kyle was crying. The rest of Stan was too busy kissing him senseless.

"Please…" The brunet whispered between kisses, "Let me do this… Let me have you…"

"I… I can't…" For all of Kyle's protests, he responded to every kiss eagerly, pressing closer, closer…

"Stan? Kyle?"

Reality tore them apart vengefully.

And there, standing across the street, fallen shopping bags littering the ground around her, was Wendy.

Stan felt more than heard Kyle's gasp.

"Wendy…" The redhead murmured, "I'm so-"

"Save it!" She shouted, gathering up her bags. Bebe, who had been standing behind her, rushed to help.

Wendy stood, pinning Stan with her eyes.

"How could you?"

And then she was gone.

And so was Kyle.


	3. Marjorine

Marjorine

Butters was anxious.

Of course, Butters was almost always anxious, so it was nothing new. He lay on his tiny bed, on the same outer space comforter his parents never let him replace. His room was exactly the same as it had been six years ago, with the exception the stash of chocolate bars he would've been too afraid to hide.

Very little had changed between Butters and his parents. They still ruled over him with an iron fist, still grounded him for things he didn't even do. The slight difference came from Butters.

Well, actually, it came from Kenny.

"Your parents are assholes, man."

That remark, a mere observation that Kenny hadn't even thought about, was like an awakening for Butters. It had been eighth grade before Butters tried to bring his best and only friend around to meet his parents, and they had taken an immediate dislike to Kenny. They called him 'that wretched trailer trash kid,' even though Kenny had worn his clean shirt and the jeans with only the tiny hole in them. He used his best table manners and called them 'Sir' and 'Ma'am.' (Though that was probably less trying to impress them and more trying to get invited back and get a free meal.)

Despite Kenny and Butters' best efforts, Butters' parents hated Kenny.

For years, Butters had worshiped the ground his parents walked on. He did whatever they told him to, and took every punishment with a smile on his face. He sincerely thought it was all in his best interest.

Of course, a side effect to being friends with Kenny was that your innocence pretty much flew right out the window.

It didn't take long for him to start sneaking around with his parka-clad friend. Though Butters still tried his best to listen to his parents, but no amount of punishment was going to keep him from his best friend.

Kenny had taught Butters how to hide things from his parents, but he didn't realize that he taught Butters to hide something from them all.

Butters sighed, hands fisting in his sheets. His stomach tightened into knots at the very thought, the guilt eating298 away at him. He wanted to tell Kenny. He needed to tell Kenny. He could never tell his parents, no, not unless he wanted to be disowned, but Kenny would understand, wouldn't he? Kenny, who did anything that moved, surely he would understand?

A low sigh escaped Butters' throat as he stood up. No, he couldn't tell Kenny. Not yet. Maybe soon, but not now.

"Butters! We're leaving! Behave!" His mother called from downstairs. That was the signal he was waiting for. He listened for the crunch of the car pulling out of the gravel driveway before hurrying to his closet.

Pushing aside church pants and button-down shirts, Butters' forced his way into the back of his closet.

Butters had grown very good at hiding things over the years. Candy bars, extra cash, Kenny's pot once (And NEVER again), all had found their way into his bedroom over the years. This was precisely why he had felt the need to develop a hiding place. So, the summer before ninth grade, (Coincidentally, the same summer he was forced to 'baby-sit Mary Jane') he and Kenny had snuck into the back of his closet while his parents were out and pried up three of the floorboards. Kenny's family had been grateful for the extra wood to cook with.

Today, his search was more important than left-over Halloween candy or hallucinogenics. He brushed aside old notes he and Kenny had passed in class, pictures of places his parents didn't know he'd visited, and exactly two ticket stubs from the times when Kenny had the money to go AND there was something they both agreed on. His hand hit soft, white cotton, and he smiled.

"Hello, old friend," He whispered, pulling the plain sundress from the bottom of the pile. He dug around for a moment more before coming up with long, auburn tresses. "Did you miss me?"

Lipstick, eyeliner, mascara, blush, and a bit of foundation , both for his pale complexion and to create a hint of cleavage on his visibly male chest. They were mostly empty containers, filched from his mom once she threw them away. He DID have one bright red lipstick his mother had disposed of immediately; "It makes me look like a prostitute." she had said. The ruby shade turned out to be Butters' favorite, and he wondered if that was partly due to her disproval.

He liked to experiment with his wig, braiding it, pulling it into pigtails. He'd watched his mother enough as a child to know the basics, and he'd taught himself the rest. He went for soft curls today. It was a GOOD wig, real hair that wouldn't burn. It had taken forever to save up for it, and then came the problem of getting to the mail before his parents did.

It was an hour of preparation for fifteen minutes of mirror time. Fifteen minutes of looking at himself, dress and wig perfectly in place. Fifteen minutes of wishing, PRAYING, that this time, they wouldn't come home. Fifteen minutes, a picture, and then off with the wig. Tug down the dress, fold it up in the hollow in the back of the closet. Hurry to the bathroom, wipe off the make-up. Step out of the nice, warm shower into the cold, cruel reality just as tires crunch up the gravel driveway.

"Butters! We're home!"

It's midnight, Cinderella.

"I'm here!"

No one can ever know.


	4. How Could You?

**Author's Note: **Yes, I'm aware of how much shorter the 3rd and 4th chapter are than the 1st and 2nd. Nothing I can do for you there. The chapters are as long as the plot demands.

**How could you?**

Wendy was tired. Dead tired. Her head was fucking POUNDING.

Seeing your boyfriend making out with his very male best friend did wonders for insomnia. If by 'did wonders' you meant 'caused it.'

She and Stan had been on and off again since the fourth grade. They were as close as two people could get without being… well… Stan and Kyle. If the boys were 'Super Best Friends,' then she and Stan were best friends, without the capitals, at the very least. They shared almost everything, they were great together (Except when they weren't, of course)!

"How could you do that to me?" She mumbled. Forget Stan for a minute, what about KYLE? She couldn't begin to count the times Kyle had sat through 'girl time' with her when Bebe was too busy. (And when she could pry him away from Stan) They had studied together so many times, and yet, it was just so easy for him to go behind her back like that.

"Stupid boys!" She shrieked, lashing out with her foot. Her little purple garbage can went flying, spreading papers and pencil shreddings everywhere. "Fuck!" She stood to clean it, staring at her carpet in disgust.

Taptaptap.

The sound of three rocks hitting her window in quick succession. Stan's telltale sign. Wendy hated that sound.

She lifted up her window to stare at the raven haired boy in her yard. "Go away, asshole!" She shouted, slamming the frame down again. The windowpane shook a little with the force she exerted.

Wendy went back to her cleaning, tossing crumpled paper balls into the trash can with a determined glare. She could hear the sound of a soft love song playing in her yard. Stan had taken to doing this every time they broke up, a different song every time.

Taptaptap.

Wendy clenched her teeth. "I WILL ignore him." She mumbled, gripping her pencil tightly as she rejoined her homework.

"Wendy!"

She screamed and shot out of her chair, slamming hard against the floor.

"Oh, Jesus, Wendy, are you okay?"

Stan.

Was in her window.

Which meant he climbed the drainpipe.

No, she was NOT okay!

"Stanley Marsh, what the HELL do you think you're doing?!" She shrieked, throwing her pencil at the raven boy's smirking face. He just LOVED seeing her riled up, didn't he?

"Throw whatever you want at me, it's just gonna bounce off." He said, laughing as he tapped on the window some more.

"I am NOT a monkey in a cage for you to laugh at, Stanley! And I'm ridiculously pissed at you right now!"

That wiped the smirk off his filthy face.

"Wendy," He moaned, "Please, just…"

"Just WHAT, Stanley Marsh?!" Wendy shrieked, eyes squeezing shut to trap the hot tears that threatened to spill over. "Just sit back and smile so you can make out with your best friend right in front of me?"

"Wendy!" Stan wobbled slightly, gripping the windowsill for support. "It's not like that!"

"What's it like, then?" She whispered, fists clenched and eyes on the ground. "Tell me. I wanna know."

They were quiet for a minute, each lost in their own thoughts.

"I don't know." Stan said quietly, resting his forehead against the glass. Wendy had to strain to hear him. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

"That's not good enough!" She cried, shocking him with the sudden sound. She took a step forward, tugging at the hem of her shirt nervously. "How could you do this to me, Stan? After everything we've been through…!"

"I don't know!" He shouted back.

She choked on her tears, eyes wide. Stan was shaking, his entire body trembling against the tempered glass.

"I just… I don't know." He continued, mumbling now. "If I did, I'd tell you, I swear."

Wendy sighed and walked over to the window, pulling it up carefully. She leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. "Just go home, Stanley." She whispered. "We can't do this right now."

He nodded. "Goodnight, Wendy."

She closed the window, turning back to her math homework. She knew she'd never get anything else done tonight, not with how wet her face was, but she had to keep up appearances.

She heard a loud thud suddenly, and spun around "Stan?" She called, unsure if he could hear her.

"I'm okay!" Came the reply. "Goodnight!"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. Same old Stan…

Yeah.

Same old Stan.


End file.
